


The consequences of social avoidance

by TheMissingMask



Series: Basil lives [3]
Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, One Shot, shameless flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 21:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15894132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissingMask/pseuds/TheMissingMask
Summary: Standing outside the house, Basil found himself unable to bear the prospect of another crush of Lady Brandon's and so turned around and walked away.Short, one-shot AU in which Basil never met Dorian but went somewhere else that night.





	The consequences of social avoidance

**Author's Note:**

> A self-indulgent one-shot to cheer myself up with the prospect of Basil surviving

Basil quitted the hansom and lingered on the street, just out of grasp of the bright orb of the gas lamps. He had a vague idea that if he remained there long enough, the deep shadows might swallow him up. Surely that would suffice as an excuse not to attend the evening.

He watched for a time in silent indecision. All the lords and ladies and duchesses in their expensive clothes with their private cabs and haughty laughs, not a one ever having had to work to obtain the money with which they bought their pleasure. He was not one of them. His survival relied on the ability to sell his art, and that relied on his occasional attendance at events such as this. He was not wanted there as a person with whom people would converse, but rather just another interesting acquisition to be flaunted by some toff for an evening because he had created some masterpiece of their favourite hunting dog, or was to produce an idealised likeness of them to hang alongside their ancestors in one of the long ornate corridors. All this just to get enough money to maintain his place in society that he required to sell his work. He had to keep up the appearance of always being in funds, lest no one would wish to associate with him, and with no associates he would have no one to buy his art. It was tiresome and seemed a cruel mockery of the purpose of art.

It was a necessary evil, but tonight something about the way his chest constricted from the very notion of stepping out of the shadows ultimately seemed to sway the balance away from that evil. He turned on his heel and walked away, keeping carefully to the shadows until he was well away from that street. Knowing the guilt he would feel had he been spotted, he didn't dare look back. He didn't turn to see the beautiful lad ascend the stairs to the entrance, and didn't even feel the gaze of those captivating eyes as they cast a puzzled glance towards the darkness of the street below.

Basil walked without thinking. He was now free for the evening, and ought return to his studio and take back up that commission he had been working on. Or, one of the commissions at least. But he was tired and melancholy and just allowed his feet to take him whither they chose. That place, after over an hour of wandering, was the doorstep of his scandalous, sensational friend. A man he loved and hated in equal measure, and the only man he could truly count as a friend in this cruel sprawling city.

He hesitated on the front steps for a time, contemplating leaving, but then, considering the dull ache in both his feet from the long walk and rather worn shoes, finally knocked. The valet came to the door and admitted him with a bow, before going to announce the artist to his master. The servant knew him well enough by now and left him waiting in the hallway for barely a minute before returning to take him into the library.

"Avoiding socialising again, Basil?" Lord Henry asked with amusement as he lounged on his sofa, ever present cigarette held loosely in one hand.

"No." Basil replied curtly because he hated admitted the accuracy of the statement, "I just...realised I had been remiss in seeing you of late."

"We breakfasted together this morning, my dear fellow."

"That was a professional engagement, about the landscape you requested." Basil argued, taking up a seat in the armchair beside the sofa, "This is a social call."

Lord Henry laughed and reached out to place a hand on his friend's forearm, "I do not blame you. Those events are utterly deplorable unless one is in the mood for it. Indeed, you are doing me quite the favour as now you lend truth to my excuse for being unable to attend."

"Which was?"

"A most private prior engagement." The man's eyes glinted mischievously in the firelight, raising a deep blush in the artist's cheeks.

"Your welcome." He glared at the reclining figure, but found himself quite unable to keep a smile from playing at the corner of his lips.

Lord Henry took another drag from his cigarette, and then absently waved it towards the hearth, "I was just thinking of you, actually. Don't you think the play of the firelight upon that globe is really quite magnificent? It would make a fine painting, wouldn't you say?"

"With the globe as the subject matter?" Basil tilted his head and examined the scene. It really was quite beautiful, but there was nothing especially interesting to remark of it.

"I suppose not, more of a backdrop perhaps." Lord Henry muttered, before suddenly leaping to his feet, "I shall be the subject matter."

And he threw himself down to recline gracefully in a leather arm chair, one arm draped over the top of the globe and cigarette held elegantly in the other hand, turning his head towards the artist. Basil laughed and pulled a sketchbook and some graphite from his bag, never willing to be without them lest opportunity arose.

"You do realise you now cannot move from that position until I am done." He said, beginning to lay down the lines of the sketch.

Lord Henry surveyed him up and down with an easy smile, "I have no quarrel with that. My view from here is really rather pleasant."

But the artist heard none of it, already deeply absorbed in his latest work. It was to be a singular masterpiece, perhaps his best work, of that he was certain.


End file.
